


Don't Commit Suicide

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, References to Suicide, Unconventional Style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherstrade Day gift for ImpishTubist, who is a Sherstrade Queen.</p><p>Sherlock shows up at Lestrade's in the middle of the night when he hears he isn't handling his "death" well. </p><p>Rated PG. Consists entirely of three word sentences/fragments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Commit Suicide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImpishTubist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/gifts).



Quiet footsteps sound. Sociopath and lockpick. Friend and deceased. Unexpected and undetected. 

Lestrade looks peaceful. Sherlock's head tilts. No, not peaceful. Resigned, and tired. Smells of alcohol. Reeks of loss. Bit not good.

This is risky. Wake him up? Leave the lie? Which is preferable? He's not certain. Should decide soon. Otherwise, it's risky. Time is dangerous. Pausing is treacherous.

Lestrade sits up.

Very not good.

"Sherlock, that you?" Is he real? He's a figment! Life's not fair. Still rather tipsy. World's cruelest dream.

Sherlock doesn't answer. Silence might convince. Acts a ghost. _Rediscover slumber, Lestrade._  Lestrade never listens. Spectacularly stupid idea. No way out.

Blankets shift away. Lestrade comes closer. Sherlock steps back. Game over, really. Fingertips pet cheek. 

Sherlock is real.

"But how could? Why are you? You can't just!" The scowl's familiar. "Sherlock, come here." He's draping himself. Sherlock sighs resignedly. Pats bare back. Spectacularly stupid idea.

Lestrade smells terrible. Failure and hopelessness. Drowning his sorrows. Sherlock's the cause. That's familiar too. 

"You're a mess." Pats bare back. "Shh, shh, Lestrade." Feels face nuzzle. Hears choked sounds. "Careful, you smell." Sherlock's nose wrinkles.

"You should too. Like death, yeah?" Buries face deeper. "You don't though. Same old Sherlock."

"Yes, I am." 

"Why're you here?" Suddenly pulls away. Familiar scowl burns. Anger unsteadies Sherlock. "Playing a game?"

Glares back imperiously. "Came for you. You're doing poorly. Decision clearly wise. Not great company. But you'll do. Oh, Lestrade, why?"

"You selfish prick." Steps back quickly. Too quickly, ugh. Nausea's a bitch. Points shaky finger. "Y'look too smug. Mourned your arse. Can't forget you."

"Heard about this." Rolls his eyes. "Lie back down."

"Come join me."

Quirks a brow. "I think not." Kneels at bedside. Stares at Lestrade. "You love me."

Lestrade's laughter barks. "So you know. Took you dying. Otherwise, you wouldn't."

Sherlock looks displeased. "You're falling apart."

"Thought you'd suicided. What you expect?"

Closes sharp eyes. "Anything but this." Opens eyes warily. "We're friends, Lestrade. Isn't that what...?"

"That what what?"

"What friends do? Save each other?" 

"You're saving me? What, right now?"

"From yourself, yes." Smirks devilishly, slyly. "You need me."

Sighs, plays along. "Yes, I do."

"And guess what?"

"Tired of games."

"I do too."

"...Well, that's nice."

"Doesn't it help? Knowing I'm alive?"

"Dunno...should it?"

Sherlock's fingers twitch. "Not quite sure."

"Well, it does."

"Stop this self-destruction." He begs softly. "Don't...don't forget. Please remember tomorrow."

"Sherlock, my phone."

"Yes, of course!" With warning, adds, "Keep it secure."

"Tomorrow, I will." 

Sherlock stands up. Grabs Lestrade's phone. Finds the lamp. Hits 'record' apprehensively. Tells camera, "Hi. Sherlock Holmes, alive. Friend of Lestrade." Smirks prettily, chuckles. "On the run. Keep this safe. Your eyes only. No one else." Hand finds Lestrade. Touches arm softly. Records it all. "I am real." Sherlock ends recording.

Throat's rather dry. "John's a wreck."

"You're much worse."

"But he's important. And I'm just--"

"You're much worse." Words stand firm. "Stop this self-destruction. You'll want to."

"And why's that?"

"I'll visit again."

"NO...you will?" Sits up, dizzily. "Sherlock, no, really?"

"You're my friend. You're mine, Lestrade."

Smile carefully emerges. "That sounds nice."

" _You'd_ think so." Pauses and reflects. "It does, rather."

"You're my secret." Laughs; it's rusty. "Dirty little secret."

"Oh, Lestrade, don't. Ruining the moment."

"Says the ghost."

Studies Lestrade carefully. He'll get better. "I should go."

"You could stay."

"I should go."

"I love you."

Smiles small smile. Ghost of one. "Yes, you do. You need me."

"Yes, I do. Play your games. Then come here. Come visit me. I'll be good. Have my promise."

"You're an idiot. I'll take it. Need your promises. Watch over John."

"Been trying," sighs. "Not too easy. Been down, myself."

"Less down, now."

"Well, that's true."

Points a finger. "Depending on you."

"For what, again?"

"Don't kill yourself." Reaches for mobile. Records himself again. Stares into camera. Incredibly serious message. "Don't commit suicide." 

Closes the phone. Puts it away. Glances at Lestrade.

"I love you."

"Yes, I know." Smirks, adjusts scarf. "I should go."

"Don't forget me."

"Promise I won't." 

Both wave goodbye. Sherlock slips away. Cool night air. Sounds of London. Thoughts of Lestrade. 

He'll be back.


End file.
